Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Brody’s voice lost its luster as he blurted, I hope you’re okay. And with that, the message ended.
I wasn’t okay. Not even close.
But Brody didn’t need to know that. And he most definitely didn’t need to know how badly I wanted to hit that call back button and tell him how fucking sorry I was.
“Fuck,” I muttered to myself as I reached for the door handle. The message from my campaign manager could wait, because I needed a drink.
Or ten.
I climbed out of my car and wiped at my eyes. Luckily, it was late and there weren’t any stray reporters lingering today. Because I wasn’t sure I could paste the smile on my face that was a requirement for the camera that inevitably got shoved in your face, along with the microphone or tape recorder that was thrust so close to your mouth that you wondered if it shouldn’t have been required to buy you a drink first.
I loved coming home. It was one of the few places where I could just be Nathan instead of the various titles that I’d somehow managed to accrue, despite how very little I’d actually done with my life.
Candidate for Senator.
Son of Chandler Wilder, governor and political scion.
Former poster boy for the right-wing movement to Bring God Back to America.
Fuck the damn titles tonight. I’d turned thirty today, and the only person I would have even considered celebrating that milestone with was over two thousand miles away.
Because I’d driven him away.
I managed to remember to lock my car as I made my way up the path leading to my front door. I would have liked to park my car in the garage, but it was full of campaign paraphernalia that I hadn’t been able to find the time to get moved to my new campaign headquarters in the heart of Charleston.
I’d bought the little Cape Cod home earlier in the year after I’d escaped the stronghold of the right-wing movement my father had begun building in Columbia, the capital of South Carolina. I’d left my law practice, too, which had pissed my father’s former General Counsel off to no end, since he’d gotten me the job at the prestigious firm shortly after I’d graduated from law school. Yeah, the plan had always been for me to get into politics, but I’d kind of fucked those plans up when I’d abruptly turned my back on my father and his constituents to run as a Democrat instead. To this day, I received countless calls from endless high-ranking officials in the Southern Baptist community who were trying to usher me back into the fold. They’d even suggested how I could spin my explanation for the sudden, albeit temporary, switch in my political affiliations.
Blame it on Brody.
I’d told them what they could do with that idea, and for a good ol’ Southern boy, I’d chosen some pretty colorful language to get my point across. Didn’t mean they didn’t stop trying, though.
And they’d stepped up their game.
The emails had started over six months ago. They’d been a nuisance at first, and I’d dismissed them as just another incensed member of my father’s constituency. But they’d taken a dark turn when they’d mentioned Brody.
And an even darker one when things had gone beyond just veiled threats in writing.
I shot a glance over my shoulder at my car and reminded myself that I really did need to get my garage cleared out. I’d already had to spend thousands of dollars in body work and new tires to fix the damage that my apparent stalker had inflicted upon the vehicle a few weeks ago. Luckily, the damage had occurred while my car had been parked overnight at a parking garage near my campaign office, so I had no reason to believe the asshole had my address.
Even the possibility that he did had me hurrying my step. I was a big guy and could handle myself well enough if push came to shove, but I knew unbalanced guys brought guns and knives to fistfights. Whoever he was, he wasn’t going to play fair, and I needed to remember that.
It wouldn’t stop me, like he was clearly so intent on doing, but it would make me more vigilant.
The night air was quiet around me as I unlocked the front door. I lived on a quiet street in a family-friendly neighborhood, and by the looks of things, most of my neighbors were already asleep. Not surprising, considering it was well after eleven.
I’d been thirty for almost twenty-four hours and I hadn’t even realized it until I’d heard Brody’s message. If I was any kind of brother, I’d at least text him to tell him happy birthday.
But I’d lost that privilege a long time ago. Even if the circumstances surrounding my life didn’t pose a threat to Brody, I still wouldn’t have called him. Yeah, he’d hinted at wanting to try to rebuild our relationship when I’d gone up to Dare, Montana to warn him about the potential threat against him, but it wasn’t something I was even considering.